The odds of doing this, calculated by my
rough estimation, are about 1 in 3,000.

I am more likely to be hit by a meteorite.

NASA data aside, it’s worth putting my point in context: I
had both kids with me.

The ace in my pocket was the note from the choir director with a photo of the shoes we needed for my eight-year-old.

Apparently, my eight-year-old can now be called a chorister.As a chorister, my child needed
“unembellished black ballet flats”.

The shoes pictured in the director’s note were made by
Cherokee and cost $14.99 atTarget. This
seemed like a good deal, considering my daughter would wear them a few times this year while
standing behind other people wearing the exact same shoes.

My daughter’s pervious pair of ballet flats had been a bit
of a bust and there was nothing unembellished about them. To be fair, the gold glitter didn’t fall off all the time, just when my daughter walked or actually had her
feet in the shoes. That pair of troublesome flats was not made by Cherokee but by another brand I’d never heard of at the time, something called Ivanka
Trump kids.

Back to Target.

We arrived at 10am sharp and headed directly to the shoe section.

No cart. No basket.Nothing but the description of the shoes
in my hand and the foot, attached to the chorister, at my side.

We found the shoes. We found the size. They fit.

At that point, I was near the socks. I felt the pull of
shopping trips past. We did need some crackers. Maybe more Windex? Where else
could I find the 5-calorie doggie treats in such a variety of flavors? Did we really have enough glue sticks to get through October?

But I had declared a “one
item” trip and we were dedicated to our mission. We headed to the checkout
with the same unflappable focus with which we’d entered just minutes before.

“Self check-out,” my eleven-year-old barked.

We couldn’t risk the temptations we’d find while waiting in
line for a cashier. The packs of gum would do us in.

One item.

One bag.

A quick moment with the credit card chip facing the correct
way for once in my life and we were out of there.

Outside, I felt the sun on my face. I didn’t have a large
grocery cart to haul to the car. I had my little chorister and the
unembellished shoes she’d need to blend into the choir.

The odds of doing this, calculated by my
rough estimation, are about 1 in 3,000.

I am more likely to be hit by a meteorite.

NASA data aside, it’s worth putting my point in context: I
had both kids with me.

The ace in my pocket was the note from the choir director with a photo of the shoes we needed for my eight-year-old.

Apparently, my eight-year-old can now be called a chorister.As a chorister, my child needed
“unembellished black ballet flats”.

The shoes pictured in the director’s note were made by
Cherokee and cost $14.99 at Target. This
seemed like a good deal, considering my daughter would wear them a few times this year while
standing behind other people wearing the exact same shoes.

My daughter’s pervious pair of ballet flats had been a bit
of a bust and there was nothing unembellished about them. To be fair, the gold glitter didn’t fall off all the time, just when my daughter walked or actually had her
feet in the shoes. This pair of troublesome flats were not made by Cherokee but by another brand I’d never heard of at the time, something called Ivanka
Trump kids.

Back to Target.

We arrived at 10am sharp and headed directly to the shoe section.

No cart. No basket.Nothing but the description of the shoes
in my hand and the foot, attached to the chorister, at my side.

We found the shoes. We found the size. They fit.

At that point, I was near the socks. I felt the pull of
shopping trips past. We did need some crackers. Maybe more Windex? Where else
could I find the 5-calorie doggie treats in such a variety of flavors? Did we really have enough glue sticks to get through October?

But I had declared a “one
item” trip and we were dedicated to our mission. We headed to the checkout
with the same unflappable focus with which we’d entered just minutes before.

“Self check-out,” my eleven-year-old barked.

We couldn’t risk the temptations we’d find while waiting in
line for a cashier. The packs of gum would do us in.

One item.

One bag.

A quick moment with the credit card chip facing the correct
way for once in my life and we were out of there.

Outside, I felt the sun on my face. I didn’t have a large
grocery cart to haul to the car. I had my little chorister and the
unembellished shoes she’d need to blend into the choir.

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About Me

Sarah Maraniss Vander Schaaff writes about parenthood, education and life and contributes to The Washington Post's On Parenting, Yahoo Parenting, HuffPost Education, Getting Smart, as well as Broadway World. She is also a contributor to the book, Smart Parents: Parenting for Powerful Learning.